“How!—at seventeen, fight against your country?” “I fought to save it.” “Citizen—we, your judges, admire your courage. What would you do with your life if we gave it you?” “Use it to kill you!” She ascended the scaffold, alarmed at the crowd of people—fearless of death. She refused the executioner’s help—cried twice, “God save the King!”—and lay down to die. After her death, the executioner found amongst her clothes a note written in blood. It was from her lover, who had been shot some days before. The lovers were only separated by a few days. Their history touched the people, but the people of that day did not know how to pardon. These awful executions were at last arrested, not because the victims were exhausted, but because the soldiers threw down their arms and positively refused any longer to play the shameful parts of executioners. Napoleon Bonaparte, the tyrant-liberator of the oppressed republic, now rose to his first distinction. The English were in possession of Toulon. Admiral Hood was preparing to flood France with English red-coats. Within a week Bonaparte had compelled the English to retire, but not before they had destroyed the arsenal and the whole of the French navy. On the beach, fifteen thousand refugees from various parts of France sought to get away to the combined English and Spanish fleets. A storm arose in the midst of this destruction. Seven thousand were rescued from the vengeance of the Republican arms; eight thousand perished. These refugees were chiefly carried to Leghorn, where their descendants still reside. The Convention ordered that Toulon should be razed to the ground for having submitted to the English. This frantic order, however, was not carried out. Napoleon was now Emperor of Toulon. Already he disobeyed orders, and rose daily to power. Marat had risen over the Girondists and Liberals, Danton over him; Robespierre was to destroy Danton, but Napoleon was to set his foot upon them all, and command, until, in his turn, in 1815, he was to succumb. CHAPTER LXII. THE BLOOD OF WOMEN. Madame Roland who had now been imprisoned through five long months, was the next celebrated victim demanded by the people. She had conquered her weariness by writing her life. At one time, she sought to avoid death by poison; but the memory of her child prevailed, and she lived on to the end. When the Girondists fell, she knew all hope of life for herself was at an end. She was then removed to the prison whence Marie Antoinette went to the scaffold—nay, she was imprisoned in the adjoining cell; and here she passed her days, watching the fragment of sky she could see through the bars of her prison, or admiring the little bunches of flowers the gaoler’s good-hearted wife sent to her dungeon almost daily.